


of love and lurking

by loafers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:09:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/pseuds/loafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"If anywhere’s good for sneaking it should be your own flat, regardless of errant wanking teenagers."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	of love and lurking

The first time it happens it’s an accident, of course. How is Nick supposed to know? He’s _innocent_ , just casually fetching a glass of water from his very own kitchen and there Harry is, sprawled out on Nick’s sofa, blankets kicked down around his feet and completely starkers like he’s forgotten he’s in _Nick’s actual house_. Nick doesn’t bother to look for where his underwear’s got to, too distracted by how there’s a teenager jerking himself off in his living room.

The moonlight makes a nice picture of him though, filtering in through the curtains, turning Harry’s skin extra pale and milky soft looking. Nick stops dead in the doorway, backs up a step so he’s proper _lurking_.

Harry’s cock is big and hard in his fist, and he’s working himself quickly, hips bucking up against his hand, stomach muscles tense and jumping. Harry’s eyes are closed, brow creased in effort, biting his lip, the hand not wrapped around his cock clutching at his own thigh. He’s impressively very quiet about the whole thing. Nick’s equally impressed by his gall, it’s just so brazen. Is this just what teenage houseguests do now? Nick feels old, and turned on.

Nick gets hard as he watches him, of course he does. He’s never bothered trying to pretend that he doesn’t find Harry attractive, at least not to himself. He doesn’t feel guilty when he reaches down to palm his own cock. It’s his house, after all. Harry’s the one who should feel guilty, wanking in someone else’s living room. 

When Harry comes it’s with a quiet little “ _oh_ ” and a fine shudder from his shoulders down to his hips, his toes even curling a little as he spurts come over his hand and belly. He strokes himself through it lazily, and sinks further down into Nick’s couch cushions, a look of bliss coming over his face.

Nick stays rooted to the spot, but feels a rush of panic when Harry moves to sit up. He’s tucked far back enough in the dark hallway that he’s hidden, so he just stands there like a lech and watches Harry wipe his hand and belly off on his own t-shirt. Nick still has his hand on his cock, however, so he can’t be feeling too guilty about the whole thing.

Nick waits until Harry’s settled back down on his sofa, naked (Nick makes a mental note to look into quotes for upholstery dry cleaning) with the blankets Nick had so kindly laid out for him earlier tucked up under his chin. Harry snuffles down into the blankets contentedly, and he looks _cute_ , Nick thinks. Too cute for someone who’s just come all over himself on a friend’s couch. That’s _probably_ why Nick’s letting him get away with it. Probably why he’s going to pretend he hasn’t seen him, and nothing to do with how hard his own cock is from the whole little show. 

Once Nick’s satisfied that Harry’s asleep, and it doesn’t take long for him to drop off, he backs back down the hallway, enters his room and closes the door softly. He wanks himself off with his face pressed against his pillow, images of Harry trembling, coming, clear in his mind.

In the morning, Harry knocks on Nick’s bedroom door, just a warning before he walks in without waiting for Nick’s permission. Nick was already half awake, and he blinks blearily at Harry walking in without a shirt on, hair in wet ringlets against his forehead, fresh from a shower and smelling like Nick’s soap. “Can I borrow a top?” Harry asks.

“Mm,” Nick agrees, and then remembers. Harry’s tense thighs, Harry’s come on his belly, Harry cleaning himself with his own shirt. Nick blinks at him, can’t help himself, “Where’s yours?” he asks.

To his credit, Harry doesn’t blush or look away, just frowns a little like he thinks Nick’s being weird. “I put it in the machine with some of your things, it was dirty, hope that’s okay?” Harry says, all calm, cool, casually confident but he’s standing a little straighter, his posture a little stiffer. It’s the first time Nick’s caught him in a lie. That is, if it counts as a lie, Harry’s t-shirt _was_ dirty.

“Yeah, fine. Thanks,” Nick says faintly, distracted by the sudden recalling of all the other times he’s woken up to Harry having put a load of washing on, god, it’s. Pretty regular. How long has Harry Styles been masturbating in his living room while he’s slept on peacefully, none the wiser? He should’ve known that last night wasn’t the first time. It would have taken at least a few goes to work up the courage to be so brazen about it. Harry must have thought he was safe, that he wouldn’t get caught. Nick even feels a little bad to have ruined his game.

He tries to imagine the first time Harry did it; probably he would have been nervous, maybe too nervous to strip off, and kept his clothes on, or at least had the blankets pulled up. Nick imagines the blush that would be on Harry’s face as he furtively slides his hand into his pants, how the silence would be deafening, so alert for any noise that might indicate Nick’s on his way to catch him. But god, it doesn’t explain _why_. Teenagers, Nick supposes. Hormones. 

“You alright?” Harry asks, and Nick realises he’s been staring. Not at Harry, thank god, but definitely a vacant stare aimed at the wall. Nick blinks, grins, doesn’t think about how his cock is half hard just from remembering what Harry looked like all naked and worked up in the moonlight.

“Yeah, you gonna make me breakfast or what, Styles?” Nick asks. 

Harry rolls his eyes, groans like he doesn’t love cooking for Nick, like he doesn’t flush happily every time Nick compliments the way he handles an egg dish. He grabs a t-shirt from Nick’s drawer and pulls it on, black and faded and baggy even on Nick. It only ends up making Harry look even younger. “Eggs on toast?” Harry asks, ruffling his hair.

Nick nods stiffly, and is outrageously relieved when Harry just gives him a funny look and leaves him to wallow in his inappropriate erection on his own without another word.

-

There’s four days before Harry ends up on Nick’s sofa again. It feels like a lot longer. Nick’s seen him during those four days, meeting for lunch or an afternoon trip to the supermarket here and there, but it’s awful. It’s just, Nick’s started obsessing a little bit, and now he can’t look at Harry’s hands without seeing them wrapped around his cock, can’t look at his mouth without picturing the way he bit his lip just before he came. It was okay at first, or manageable at least, just a little rush whenever Nick met Harry’s eye, but by the fourth day Nick’s started doing ridiculous things like losing his train of thought and, god, _blushing_.

It’s probably not the best idea to agree to let Harry crash at his house again, but, it’s not like he could say no now when he never has before. Not without a reason, and his reason - “sorry Haz, caught you having a wank and now I can’t stop thinking about your cock” - isn’t one he’s prepared to share, no, he’d like to keep some of his dignity intact if he can help it, thanks much. Besides, it’s not like Harry even _asks_ , just hangs around after dinner until they’re both yawning and then gets up and ferrets out the spare bedding from Nick’s linen cupboard without a word or anything. _Popstars_ , Nick thinks in resignation, but then Harry’s stripping off his t-shirt and jeans and stretching out on Nick’s sofa and Nick can’t think at all. 

It’s not like he scurries off to bed then, planning to get up after a cursory amount of time to try and catch Harry having a wank, but once he’s lying there in the dark he can’t think of anything else. He certainly can’t sleep, not with the curiosity nagging at him, wondering if Harry’s got his hand on his cock down the hall _right now_. It’s, it’s not like he’ll stay and watch this time. He just needs to know if he’s doing it, he has to, because he needs to be up for work early and it won’t do to be kept awake wondering all night. That’d be irresponsible. Besides, he’s not _really_ expecting to find Harry at it again.

But still, it’s with his water glass alibi gripped tightly in his hand that Nick creeps out of his room. He _creeps_ , in his own bloody house! It’s very quiet ( _too quiet_ , Nick thinks like something out of a stupid cartoon). And then, yes, of course -

Harry’s in the same position as before, totally naked, blankets thrown off. It makes Nick’s breath catch even though he’s seen it before, makes his dick twitch in interest at the sight of him. It’s no less of a punch in the gut than the first time, and this time it might be worse. It feels so much more illicit, Nick sneaking out of his room knowing what he might find, god, _hoping_. 

Harry’s going slower than the first time, seems to be taking his time with it. He breathes slow and steady, moonlight glinting off his necklaces as his pale chest rises and falls. He bites his lip, hips jerking up slightly now and then when he rubs his palm over the slick head of his cock.

The leisurely way Harry’s stroking himself encourages Nick to take his time too, really take in the sight of him. He hadn’t even really acknowledged how beautiful Harry looks this way last time. He really is beautiful, more beautiful than anyone has a right to be when doing something that’s generally a bit messy and ridiculous. He’s all long pale muscle, elegantly stretched out along the length of Nick’s sofa. 

Harry makes a little noise, a little cut off moan in his throat, and even that’s beautiful. Nick finds himself leaning forward, wanting more, hoping to catch every little sound Harry spills. But Harry remains mostly silent, just like the first time. Purposefully silent, Nick thinks, by the way Harry is biting his lip. Like he’s worried he’ll be caught if he makes a noise.

Nick doesn’t even think to touch himself, though his cock is hard and wanting. Harry’s such a perfect picture, somehow so pure, Nick doesn’t want to taint it. It would be no different than what Harry’s doing really, but it feels too dirty and obscene to stand in the doorway and jerk off over the image of Harry pleasuring himself, unaware.

The build up is slow, but the same as before, Harry’s stomach and thighs tense up, he strokes himself a little quicker, and then he goes still and Nick’s neglected cock throbs in his underwear as Harry breathes out long and shaky and spills over his fist and belly. Harry moans softly, and keep stroking himself until it’s over. 

He lies there for a long moment, just breathing and touching himself absently, stroking his fingers through the come on his belly, eyelids drooping. He looks like a little kid, almost, except for all the come and his cock and that, but Nick still feels a strong impulse to look after him, gather him close and clean him up and tuck him in, kiss him on the forehead or something stupid like that. It’s not the correct reaction he should be having to a masturbating teenager. Nick thinks probably most people would be either furiously masturbating, or turning and fleeing, scandalised. 

Not Nick though. What Nick does is watch Harry clean himself up same as before, with his t-shirt like a little grot, and settle down under the blankets with a contented sigh, and then Nick goes back to his bedroom and climbs into bed and jerks himself off thinking about it.

It’s not hard to imagine Harry stretched out in his bed instead of on his sofa, and so Nick does. He imagines Harry in his bed with him, all long, naked limbs laid out beside him. He looks at his own hand on his cock and imagines Harry’s there instead, changes how he touches himself to match the way he’s seen Harry do it twice now, and it’s just too easy to pretend. Nick comes quicker than he would normally, with his mind full of Harry, biting his lip to stop Harry’s name from spilling out. 

It’s not a thing that it’s Harry he’s thinking about, no. It could be anyone, it’s only because Harry happened to be the last person he’s seen naked. It’s mere convenience. Nick’s never claimed to have any grand creative flair for fantasies of the sexual manner. In fact, his imagination is down right lazy, so of course it’s Harry he’s thinking about when he comes. 

The thing is, he’s still thinking about Harry once he’s cleaned himself up with a handful of tissues, still Harry as he drifts off to sleep, and in his dreams it’s Harry too, smiling and leaning in for a kiss.

-

Nick’s sitting at the breakfast bar with a mug of coffee when Harry wakes up. Harry strolls through Nick’s kitchen in his underwear, the shirt Nick knows is stained with his come balled up in his hands. He freezes when he sees Nick and clutches his dirty t-shirt against his chest. 

Nick tries not to stare at it, tries not to be obvious. 

“You’re up,” Harry says. Nick nods. 

“What’re you up to?” Nick asks.

“I was just.” Nick almost feels guilty. Harry looks so flustered, glancing between Nick and the door to the laundry room. “Thought I’d, uh, put some washing on,” he says. 

“Your shirt didn’t seem all that dirty last night,” Nick says.

“You’ve been paying attention to the cleanliness of my clothing?” Harry says, quirking an eyebrow. He doesn’t look perfectly sure of _himself_ , but definitely of Nick’s status as complete and utter weirdo. 

Nick rolls his eyes because Harry’s got him caught. He sips his coffee again and Harry disappears into the laundry, only to emerge a moment later wearing, god, Nick’s big, old, faded Dr. Dre shirt. Nick nearly swallows his tongue, nearly chokes on his coffee. “Where’d you get that?” he splutters.

“The dryer,” Harry says, hesitates, fingers curling in the hem and lifting it a little and somehow that. That is so much. Too much. Way sexier than Harry just in his pants, maybe even more than Harry jerking himself off, god. Harry in Nick’s favourite t-shirt, Harry’s hip peeking out where he’s lifted the hem, Harry’s underwear tight and black and not hiding anything, god, not that any of it’s a mystery to Nick by now. “I can take it off if-”

“No,” Nick says quickly and resists the urge to jump up and tug the hem of the t-shirt back down. He’s a little dazed. “No, it’s fine,” he says, more casually. “No more stripping off in my kitchen, you little tramp.”

He can do this. He can deal with Harry having orgasms on his sofa and wearing nothing but his favourite t-shirt and his pants in his kitchen. Oh, then Harry’s in the fridge. Addendum; Nick can deal with Harry wearing nothing but Nick’s favourite t-shirt and his pants making him breakfast in his kitchen. Yes. He can. 

“Omelettes?” Harry asks and Nick looks up to catch an eyeful of Harry’s arse bent over as he inspects the contents of Nick’s fridge. Nick swallows thickly, and starts to doubt himself. 

“Yes,” Nick says, voice a little strained. Harry doesn’t look up though, too set on his task now. “Showering,” Nick says curtly, and flees.

-

Nick almost loses the nerve the next time. He’s fighting with himself over it. Harry’s so sweet and guileless in the daylight, all easy smiles and god, _trust_. When Nick looks at Harry now, all he can see is what he looks like when he comes. 

Which is, really nice. Harry looks really fucking good when he comes, and Nick can’t get enough of it. He’s terrible. He’s definitely tried harder to find excuses for why Harry should crash at his flat. Harry is easy enough to convince, and that makes Nick feel worse about it. Nick’s really taking advantage of him now, his trust. 

Nick would wager he’s done worse though, so he can’t quite manage to convince himself that the moral damnation isn’t worth it. He slips out of his bedroom, not even bothering with the preemptive water glass cover this time, and finds Harry exactly as he knew he would.

He stands in the dark doorway, licks his lips and slides his hand into his underwear, gripping himself tight. He’s thought about this, but not too consciously, just little thoughts in the back of his mind about how hot it would be to make himself come with Harry, trying to keep himself quiet and hidden while they both lose it together. 

His eyes slip up the spread of Harry’s body, a familiar sight by now. It’s Harry’s hand on his cock he’s most interested in looking at, but he still glances at Harry’s face. 

He almost yelps when he sees Harry biting his lip, looking straight back at him. Nick yanks his hand out of his pants, his heart in his throat. He, Harry can’t see him, can he? It’s dark, he’s hidden. But - 

“Nick,” Harry says hoarsely. “I know you’re there.”

“I’m not,” Nick says automatically, ridiculously. He groans and lets his head drop against the doorframe.

Harry laughs, breathy. “It’s ok. You can watch if you like. I like being watched.”

“You some kind of dirty pervert, then?” 

“Me?” Harry raises his eyebrows at him. He has a point, objectively, Nick _has_ been sneaking around his flat in the middle of the night hoping to catch a teenager having a wank. But it’s his flat, and if anywhere’s good for sneaking it should be your own flat, regardless of errant wanking teenagers.

Harry’s stopped though, just lying there looking up at Nick with an amused expression on his face, hand still curled around his dick but not moving anymore. Nick’s displeased. “Go on, then,” Nick says, rolling his eyes like he’s doing Harry some outrageous favour, not asking him to jerk himself off in front of him. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame.

Harry smirks, but he doesn’t make any comment, doesn’t throw it in Nick’s face. He licks his lips, eyes locked with Nick’s as he slides his fist down the length of his cock, real slow like it’s just for Nick. He bites his lip, tips his head back and starts jerking himself off in earnest again, like before, when he didn’t know Nick was there.

It’s like Harry’s enjoying it, putting on a show. The way he’s touching himself is the same as before, but he’s holding himself differently. Long limbs relaxed, posture open, _inviting_ , Nick might want to think. Harry pants, bucking up into his fist as he goes frantic with it. 

Nick’s hard, but he’s not going to touch himself, not when Harry knows he’s there, when Harry could just open his eyes and see how arousing Nick’s finding his little display. He wants, wants to go to Harry and knock his hand away from his cock, wrap his own hand around him and finish the job for him, wants to feel Harry in his hand. Harry has a nice cock, Nick’s seen it enough now that he can’t deny it. He can’t do that though, can’t touch himself or Harry, but he can watch, and he wants to watch Harry come. That’s something he can do. 

Harry’s body tenses, his stomach and thighs straining, and Nick’s seen this twice before now, enough to know Harry’s close. Nick feels his own body tense up in sympathy, his cock aching to be touched. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, strained, bucks his hips up into his fist one last time, and then Nick watches greedily as Harry comes all over himself, striping his belly, dribbling down his fist. Nick can’t look away from it, wants to feel the muscle of Harry’s stomach quiver under his tongue as he licks him clean. 

When Nick finally manages to drag his eyes away from Harry’s come, he finds Harry smirking and feels tense and ridiculous leant there in the doorway, his arms crossed so tight over his chest. Harry licks his lips and then very deliberatly raises his messy hand up to his mouth, keeps his eyes locked with Nick’s as he laps the come from the back of his hand. 

Nick swallows tightly, shakes himself. “I’ll get you a, uh, towel,” Nick says, voice hoarse.

“Thanks,” Harry drawls, voice thick and lazy. He looks so satisfied with himself, more than the usual post orgasm amount, Nick thinks.

He goes to the kitchen, and gulps a glass of water, actually needing it now. He snags the roll of paper towels off the bench and takes them to Harry, feeling a little more in his element now that the daze of shock has cleared a little bit. 

He lets himself look as he hands the paper towels to Harry, because why shouldn’t he. Harry’s predictably more infuriatingly hot up close, so Nick keeps his gaze above Harry’s shoulders as he wipes himself clean. Harry’s not as polite, stares openly at the shape of Nick’s erection in his underwear. Nick feels naked even though he’s wearing two hundred percent more clothing than Harry is. 

Harry doesn’t say anything about it though, which is a great mercy because Nick doesn’t know if he actually has the mental faculties for navigating that situation. Eventually Harry meets his eyes again and settles down into the cushions, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “Good night, Nick,” he says with a content sigh and Nick just sort of grunts in response, and flees. 

It only takes Nick a minute or so to come once he’s back in his bed with his hand on his cock. He sleeps deep and easy and in the morning Harry acts as if nothing strange has happened between them so Nick does too. 

-

It’s a long time before Harry ends up on his sofa again. There’s a trip to America and a lot of promo, but eventually, Harry’s home with enough time that he begs Nick to take him out, so Nick does, and Harry comes home with him like always, but this time when he falls onto Nick’s sofa it’s with a significant look.

Nick’s not ready to give up the pretense. He can’t just stand there and watch Harry get himself off like it’s normal. He feels stupid but he says goodnight, his cock already hard in his jeans when he slinks off to his bedroom.

He spends barely half a ridiculous hour lying there in the dark, before he can’t stand it anymore. 

It’s better in the dark, Nick doesn’t feel nearly as exposed as he slips out of his room and comes to stand in the doorway of his living room. Harry’s sat on the couch in his underwear, watching TV. He switches it off, and turns to look at Nick.

“You’re waiting for me?” Nick asks, hesitantly, unsure if he really did imagine it all. The scene is normal, innocent, enough.

But then, “yeah,” Harry says and lifts his hips off the sofa to shove his underwear down. His cock slaps against his belly, hard and straining, and there’s nothing innocent about it at all. 

“Come closer?” Nick can tell Harry’s only half as sure of himself as he thinks he sounds, can pick out the slight tremble in his voice where it’s threatening to break from nerves.

Nick comes closer, his head spinning as he steps over the threshold, like it’s a physical manifestation of the line he’s crossing by doing as Harry says. Harry looks pleased, leaning back on the sofa and watching Nick cross the room, his fingertips sliding over his cock.

Nick feels like pushing the situation, clawing back a little control, uncomfortable with taking direction from Harry. He comes to stand right in front of Harry, tries to loom as intimidatingly as possible over him before sinking down slowly to sit on the edge of the coffee table, directly opposite him.

But Harry just plants his feet on the coffee table, unphased. He has to spread his legs to get them either side of Nick’s thighs, slumps down a little to do it, tilts his hips up and god, Nick can see him. All of him. Nick’s fingers dig into his thighs, he wants to touch him. 

Harry’s got his fist around the base of his cock, squeezing, and Nick can’t take his eyes off it. Nick’s so distracted, he misses the movement of Harry bringing his other hand up to his mouth and sucking two fingers between his lips. The dirty wet slurp of it makes Nick look at Harry’s face though, and Harry slides his fingers out of his mouth with a filthy smile. “You gonna watch me fuck myself?” He asks, fingers and lips glistening wet with spit.

Nick doesn’t say anything, because what can you say to that? But he keeps his gaze steady. His cock throbs in his underwear, the shape of it so obvious through the thin cotton. He knows Harry must be able to see it. 

Harry scoots down the sofa a little more, his arse almost hanging off the edge now. He’s slumped, chin to chest, and it’s all very undignified looking, but then he spreads his legs wider and flicks his gaze up to look Nick in the eye and suddenly it’s just hot. Suddenly, yeah, there’s nothing in the world Nick wants more than to watch Harry fuck himself on his fingers. 

Nick doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He rests them on his own thighs but Harry’s right there, barely a few inches from him, it’d be so easy to touch him. If Nick just shifted his legs apart a little his thighs would brush against Harry’s ankles braced either side of him. Something in him stops him from doing it though. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed, if it’s part of the game. 

Harry slides his hand down between his legs, slips his fingers down behind his balls, and then further, stroking them over his arsehole. Harry moans, hips shifting, legs flexing. His arse ends up hanging even further off the edge of the couch, even closer to Nick, but it’s okay because Nick’s frozen, couldn’t even move to touch Harry if he was allowed to. It’s too good, Harry’s long, sure fingers prodding at his hole. He squirms one inside and Nick can tell by how he really has to work it in how tight he must be. Nick licks his lips and Harry’s legs fall open, one foot clumsily slipping off the edge of the coffee table. 

He rocks his finger in and out of himself, shallow and quick, using his foot still braced against the coffee table to push his hips up to meet it. He works a second finger in alongside the first with a breathy moan, his other hand giving his cock a firm stroke. Nick glances up at his face and nearly moans himself. Harry’s just watching him, eyes hooded but his gaze intense, biting his lip, his cheeks flushed pink and pretty. Nick has to look away, back down at his fingers inside himself, his hand on his cock. It’s easier to deal with. 

Harry can’t get his fingers very deep, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him too much. He tucks a third finger inside and fucks himself fast, jabbing his fingers inside roughly, matching the hand on his cock with the rhythm of it. 

“Nick,” he gasps and Nick’s eyes widen, licks his lips and meets Harry’s gaze. Harry pants, and nudges Nick’s thigh with his toes. “Touch yourself. Wanna see,” he says, and Nick doesn’t need telling twice.

He doesn’t think, just does it, shoves his pants down under his balls and wraps a hand around his leaking cock with a small moan of relief, his eyes slipping shut for only a second before Harry’s making a needy little noise and poking at Nick’s thigh with his toes again. Nick opens his eyes, and looks at Harry. “Yeah,” Harry breathes, and both his hands speed up, fucks himself harder, strokes himself quicker. Nick tries to match it with his own hand on his cock, imagines that it’s Harry stretched tight around his cock instead.. 

As Harry gets closer, Nick feels himself getting there too, and his heart beats harder at the thought that they might come together. “God Nick, come with me,” Harry moans desperately, like he can read Nick’s mind or he wants it just as much. 

“Yeah,” Nick says, more mindless approval than a considered agreement, and Harry moans, hips bucking up, stomach tensing. “Yeah,” Nick repeats, and strokes himself frantically, frowning from the effort, biting his lip so hard it hurts. “I’m, Harry,” Nick warns, his own hips jerking up as he watches Harry shove his fingers deep.

“Yes,” Harry hisses and that’s it, he’s coming, and Nick is too, choking on a moan, overwhelmed. Nick’s vision goes a bit blurry for a moment and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, curl in on himself as he comes hard, harder than he has in years maybe.

When Nick manages to open his eyes he’s still trembling a little from it, aftershocks shooting up his spine. His hand is a mess, but nothing like Harry’s stomach, and he realises with a jerk that it’s his own come splattered over Harry’s thigh. “Fuck,” Nick spits, and Harry nods dazedly. 

“You came on me,” Harry says and Nick’s face burns. He doesn’t even think, just reaches out and tries to wipe the come from Harry’s thigh, but then Harry’s hips jerk up and Nick realises that it’s the soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh that’s under his fingertips, and it’s his come on Harry, jesus. He came on him. 

“Sorry,” Nick manages and attempts to take his hand away but Harry snatches it up, pulls it up to his face as if he’s inspecting the mess on Nick’s fingertips. 

Harry glances at Nick, and then. Ok, then Nick must lose his mind, or cross over into an alternate reality, because then, Harry very purposefully licks Nick’s come off his fingers and Nick can’t, he can’t process it, can’t think about the way Harry’s hot, wet tongue feels against his skin, god, how it looks. 

“You taste good,” Harry mumbles, and takes two of Nick’s fingertips into his mouth, sucks at them. Nick feels as if he might pass out. He can’t pull his hand away, doesn’t want to. What he wants is to push his fingers deeper into the perfect, wet heat of Harry’s mouth, or, god, feel it around his cock. Harry’s mouth looks so good. Nick’s just come, still trying to properly catch his breath from it, but he still feels giddy with arousal, hot and pooling low in his belly. 

“Thanks,” he says faintly, because that’s what you do when someone pays you a compliment.

Harry pushes Nick’s fingers from his mouth with his tongue and Nick’s arm falls heavily to his side. Harry grins filthily, flicks his eyes down to Nick’s cock and licks his lips, before he looks back up at Nick’s eyes. “You’re welcome,” he says slow and careful, like Nick really actually _is_ welcome, and Nick shoves his cock back in his pants as if it might keep him from getting hard all over again. Like anything could with Harry looking at him like that. 

“You alright?” Nick asks because he’s not.

Harry just nods. “A bit tired now,” he says with a smile. Nick huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I bet,” he says and Harry bites his lip. 

“You should start keeping tissues or something out here.” Nick feels like telling him that he should stop wanking on his sofa but he doesn’t really _want_ Harry to stop doing that and he’s caught a little bit on Harry’s suggestion that Harry intends to keep doing it.

“Hm,” Nick says, a noncommittal agreement. It doesn’t feel right to encourage Harry to keep up with his little game, but like hell he’s going to discourage him from doing it either. Instead of passing judgement on Harry’s sexual proclivities, Nick fetches the paper towels from the kitchen again, thinking he should make Harry wipe off on his t-shirt only so he could get a load of his washing done in the morning.

-

Harry isn’t waiting the next time. Nick walks into his living room, more casual now that they’ve established this _thing_ , and Harry’s on his knees face down on the couch, arse in the air with three fingers buried in himself. 

It’s a picture, and Nick pauses in the doorway and tries to commit it all to memory, the long lean muscles of Harry’s back shifting as he rocks back on his fingers, his little needy gasps.

“Nick,” Harry whines, and Nick doesn’t know how he knows he’s there. He can’t have seen him with his face buried in the couch cushions. 

Nick moves into the room anyway, coming to sit on the coffee table again like last time, on the end of it near where Harry’s head is. “I’m here,” Nick says. 

Harry gasps and turns his head to face Nick, looks lost to it, eyes dark and unfocused, heavy lidded, face flushed. He looks really young, soft. Nick gets this unbearable urge to take care of him. “I can’t make it good,” Harry whines, eyebrows knitted, shoving himself back on his fingers. “Will you--”

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Nick murmurs, giving into that horrible urge. He strokes Harry’s hair back off his forehead and Harry closes his eyes, leans into Nick’s touch, makes the sweetest little sound. “Wait here,” Nick says with a wry smile, because, where is Harry going to go? Harry groans when Nick gets up, his eyes wide and frantic watching him leave. He doesn’t protest though. Harry’s so sure he’s got him, that Nick will give him what he needs. He trusts him, and it makes Nick feel a little guilty.

But still, he’s going to make it good for Harry. He fetches lube from his bedroom and settles behind Harry on the sofa. Harry’s taken his fingers out of himself, curled his arms up under him, breathing heavily. He looks tense, and Nick strokes a hand down his back to ease it out of him, but Harry only strains up against the touch with a little desperate moan. 

“Nick, please,” Harry says, voice strained, desperate. 

“Tell me what you want,” Nick says, because he wants to make sure. The last thing he’d ever want to do is take advantage, not to this extent. Watching Harry get off is one thing, this is different. 

“Your fingers, please, fuck me,” Harry says, rocking his arse back. 

It’s enough for Nick, too much probably. He slicks his fingers and presses two inside, Harry already having stretched himself enough on his own to make it slick and easy. Harry groans, and Nick can’t believe he’s here, doing this, his fingers sunk deep in Harry’s body.

“More,” Harry moans.

“Jesus,” Nick mutters and shoves a third slick finger right into him. Harry takes it so beautifully, clenching tight around his fingers and pushing back against Nick’s touch eagerly. 

Nick twists his fingers deep, fucks him steady and thorough. He’s good at this, he knows just how to do it, and Harry’s making an awful lot of helpless little noises. 

“Can, can you touch me?” Harry asks, gasping, hips jerking everytime Nick strokes him inside where he needs it. Nick wants to tell him he’s greedy, wants to touch himself, but he gives his hand to Harry because he might not get the opportunity again. 

Nick wraps his hand around his cock and Harry cries out, arches his back and shoves back on Nick’s fingers more insistently, the muscle of his thighs twitching. He rocks between Nick’s hands and groans against his own. Nick wishes he could see his face, wishes he could watch someone else do this to Harry so he could get a good look, commit it all to memory. 

Harry feels so good in his hand, so good inside, and Nick knows just how to jerk him off after watching him do it to himself so many times. It doesn’t take Harry long at all until he’s groaning and shoving his face into Nick’s cushions, spilling over Nick’s fist. Nick’s careful to catch it all in his hand, and keep on the steady press of his fingers into him right through until he’s spent and shaking.

“Nick,” Harry says breathlessly, and Nick watches a long shiver run down his spine. Nick takes his fingers out of him, watches Harry’s hole twitch, empty in their absence. Harry sinks down onto the couch, a slow collapse, and hefts himself over onto his back to blink up at Nick kind of dazed looking. 

Nick’s hands are covered in lube and come and he’s got Harry laid out in front of him, legs fallen open, spread with Nick on his knees in between, Nick’s cock thick and obvious in his pants, hard and aching, fucking pounding for Harry. Nick feels like he can’t breathe, the weight of want and inevitability crushing him. It’s not that he doesn’t want it, it’s just that he can’t believe he could ever have it. If it was anyone else, he’d do it, shove his pants down and his cock inside, but it’s Harry. 

If Harry wanted him to fuck him he would’ve said when Nick asked and now Harry’s looking up at him all sweaty and flushed, almost looks overwhelmed, scared. Nick licks his lips, steadies his voice, “I need to wash my hands,” he says, and gets the fuck up off the couch before Harry can say anything. 

Nick’s a coward probably, but he washes his hands and doesn’t go back, slips into his bed and tries to stop breathing so hard. He needs to come so badly, needs to do it before he can trust himself around Harry again, so he kicks his underwear off and wraps his hand around his cock and regrets having washed Harry’s come away, the memory of it almost as good as actually using it to slick his cock but not quite. He jerks himself frantic, not even caring about how he does it, he’s too close already.

He doesn’t hear his bedroom door open, but he Nick sits up when he realises it has, his hand flying away from his cock like he’s been caught doing something awful. Nick watches the shape of Harry bump across the room in the dark, his heart in his throat. He realises he hasn’t taken a breath since Harry entered the room, so he does, long and a little unsteady, as Harry climbs onto his bed. 

“Ha-” he starts, but Harry climbs over him, puts his hand over his mouth.

“Shh, let me, I want to,” Harry mutters. Nick thinks he sounds nervous, but Nick isn’t sure of much in this world anymore, not when he’s just made Harry come from his fingers in his arse, and now Harry’s in his bed, crawling into his lap. 

Harry straddles him, and Nick’s cock slips slick against the crack of his arse. Nick can’t help himself, he grabs at Harry’s hips, needs something to hold onto. “Yeah,” Harry says, and leans up, reaches back, and then he’s touching Nick’s cock and Nick’s brain short circuits a little bit.

Nick literally can’t talk, for maybe the first time in his life. If he opened his mouth he just knows all that would come out is a really embarrassing noise, so he doesn’t. Harry looks at him, eyes shining in the dark, and positions his cock against his hole, still so slick and stretched from Nick’s fingers. “Want you to fuck me,” Harry says, breath a little short, and so Nick does. 

He squeezes his grip on Harry’s hips tighter, and pulls him down, shoves his hips up, but there’s not much he can do himself, pinned by Harry’s weight. He guides Harry down onto his cock, and Harry’s hands fumble, come to rest on Nick’s shoulders as he sinks down on him. It’s not slow, but Harry’s still really tight, and Nick doesn’t want to hurt him. 

“Oh god,” Harry groans and Nick makes a little noise in agreement, just a grunt really, still doesn’t trust himself to make actual words. Harry’s so hot and smooth inside, slick and perfect, squeezing tight on Nick’s whole cock buried in him. Harry rocks his hips and Nick bites his lip. “I, I’ve wanted,” Harry gasps and Nick panics, the feeling is already too much, he can’t bear to hear how Harry’s waited for this. 

Nick kisses him to shut him up, clumsy and harsh, but Harry moans into it, melts against Nick’s body, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Nick squeezes at Harry’s hips, the hot slide of Harry’s tongue in his mouth making the throbbing pleasure of Harry’s body around his cock almost unbearable. It feels too good, he aches, wants to come already, god, wants to come inside Harry. They don’t even have a condom. Nick groans and Harry must get it, he holds Nick tight, but breaks the kiss, takes in a shuddering breath as he rises up off Nick’s cock a bit and drops back down.

“Fuck,” Nick swears, and drops his head against Harry’s shoulder. It’s too good, too much. He’s not going to last. Harry holds him close, tight, using his grip on Nick’s shoulders to help him move, work up a rhythm, fucking himself on Nick’s cock jerky and shallow but still so fucking good. 

“How many times?” Harry gasps and fists his hands in Nick’s hair as he bounces on his cock. “How many times did you watch me?”

“Four, five including now,” Nick answers in a growl, doesn’t even have to count, he’s fucking thought about it so much. He bucks his hips up into him as best he can but Harry has him fairly pinned, and he feels weak, helpless to the pleasure rolling through him.

“I knew you were there all except the first time, then,” Harry says, dragging his mouth across Nick’s cheek to meet Nick’s in a searing kiss, hot and deep and messy. Nick groans, and Harry picks up the pace a little, fucks himself on Nick’s cock like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“You looked so good,” Nick groans when Harry lets him breathe.

“Like looking good for you,” Harry gasps, a horrible thing, Nick’s head swims, digging his nails into Harry’s flesh harder. Harry’s not done, “can’t help myself, you’re so. When we, I just. Want,” Harry gasps. “I just want you.”

“God,” Nick groans and gets Harry on his back, slips out of him on the way, so he can arrange himself between Harry’s thighs spread wide and slam back inside him in one go, fucking a ragged gasp out of Harry’s throat. Nick quite likes the sound, how Harry’s eyes sort of glaze over like he’s not even really there, so Nick does it again, and again, keeps doing it, fucking Harry hard and deep and pulling all manner of sounds out of him. 

“I’ve wanted you so long, Nick,” Harry gasps, softer and helpless sounding, tracing his fingers over Nick’s face, strokes a thumb over his cheek. Nick pushes down everything in him that’s threatening to bubble up and spill over - the want, even with his cock buried in Harry he still just wants it, wants him so much. Harry curls his hand around the back of Nick’s neck and when he pulls him down, Nick goes. 

Nick kisses him through the rest of it, his cock fucking into Harry deep and hard but less frantic, letting himself feel it, make it last while Harry whimpers against his mouth everytime he gets it just right. Nick’s bent low over him, can feel Harry hard again, rubbing against his belly each time he thrusts deep. 

He gets his hand between them, around Harry’s cock for the second time and almost forgets to keep on fucking him with how Harry moans and shakes, only three strokes of his hand and he’s coming, trembling and clutching at Nick, holding him close, kissing him so fiercely Nick imagines his lips’ll be bruised for a week. 

Nick fists his hands in the sheets either side of Harry’s head once he’s done, getting Harry’s come everywhere but he doesn’t care. He presses his face against Harry’s pretty pale throat and ruts into him, Harry’s hands sliding down his back to grip his arse, pull him deep, his lips by Nick’s ear, kissing his skin and mumbling, “come on, Nick, please.” 

Nick groans, he’s almost there, his feet slipping against his bed covers for purchase, fucking into Harry with everything he has. “I want, can I,” Nick gasps, can’t quite get the words out but Harry knows, locks his legs around Nick’s hips, digs his fingers into his arse. 

“Yeah, come on, come in me,” Harry moans, and Nick does, hips stuttering, helpless, gone. 

“Fuck,” Nick gasps, when he can, all of it rolling through him for ages, his whole body going tight, even his hands squeezing into fists, his fingernails digging hard enough into his palms that it hurts. “Harry,” he manages, and Harry nudges his faces against Nick’s until he finds his mouth, kisses him slow and gentle while Nick’s body shivers, comes down from it. 

“So good, perfect,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s mouth, his legs sliding from around Nick’s body, his arms slipping around Nick’s waist, holding him like a hug. Nick’s grateful for it, overwhelmed by what might come, the uncertainty of it. 

“I should,” Nick says after a moment, and Harry lets Nick go so he can pull out of him. “Do you want to shower?” Nick asks, hovering over Harry’s body. Harry reaches up to push Nick’s hair back off his face and shakes his head. 

“No, I. Can we just sleep?” Harry asks. “Can I sleep here? With you?” 

“Yes,” Nick says, relieved. It’s what he wants, suddenly, more than anything. Harry shifts to the side a little and Nick lies beside him. It’s natural then for Nick to hold his arms out and let Harry squirm close, curl up against him. He feels overheated and sticky, but it’s still the nicest thing Nick’s ever felt, and Harry fits perfectly against him. 

“Nick,” Harry says, and Nick makes a noise to show he’s listening. “I’d never done that with someone before.” 

Nick swallows carefully, holds Harry tighter. “It’s alright,” he says, even though he feels anything but. What a thing to tell someone. Nick feels strangely naked, exposed, and he can’t imagine how it must feel for Harry. “You are, aren’t you? Alright?” he asks, a horrible panic seeping into his chest at the thought that Harry might not be. He suspected he was Harry’s first, but it’s a different thing knowing it, and Nick’s not quite prepared for the reality of it. 

“Yeah,” Harry says and presses a kiss against Nick’s jaw. “I’m glad it was you. Always hoped it would be.” 

“Are you serious?”

Harry blushes and ducks his head to hide his face against Nick’s chest. “Yeah, I,” he pauses and breathes in deep like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I kind of hoped that we’d be like... together, when it happened, but this is okay too.”

“Oh,” Nick says and feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry says, and Nick can’t help himself, he just sounds so small and uncertain. He tilts Harry’s face up and Harry looks at him steadily, eyes wide and bright green and so beautiful, full of nothing but trust and hope. Nick doesn’t deserve it, but he kisses him anyway. 

“I don’t know either,” Nick says, and kisses him again, for longer. Harry winds his arm around Nick’s neck and pulls him closer, slips his tongue into Nick’s mouth and Nick just lets it happen for a moment, kisses Harry as best he can and tries to put all the things he’s feeling all of a sudden into it. 

Harry pulls away, bites his lip, slips his hand down Nick’s chest. “We should, I mean, we could try to, like, figure it out, together?” he says, so hesitantly that he only glances up to meet Nick’s eyes for a moment. 

“Maybe, yeah,” Nick agrees, dazed. “I’d like that,” he says, and it’s true. Harry smiles, small and warm, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Nick doesn’t know how he got here, or what he did to deserve it, but he’s really fucking glad so he pulls Harry close and holds him tight. “We’ll figure it out,” he says. 

-

Harry doesn’t wank on Nick’s sofa again after that, but sometimes when Nick’s feeling nostalgic he’ll jerk him off slow and steady while they’re curled close together after dinner with an episode of The Great British Bake Off playing on the television. Harry does still do the washing, though.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to voyeurism porn, and then it spiralled because boyfriends :(
> 
> much love as always to [sara](http://cyclogenesis.tumblr.com) who put up with my whining about it for ages and read bits and encouraged me and then fixed my silly mistakes at the end, and is generally the best and deserves all the love regardless. <3333


End file.
